A Despicable New Year

In years past, I would bring in the New Year with rollicking parties that involved dancing, alcohol, and hangovers. Frankly, there are some years that I absolutely don't remember what I did - but I know I had a darn good time doing it.

This year, I spent New Year's Eve with the kids, watching "Despicable Me" on the DVD player.

My, how times have changed.

And I wouldn't change any of it.

Happy New Year, friends, however you choose to celebrate it!

Peace.

Unplugged!

It doesn't take much to entertain the family.

A leisurely day spent in Ft. Myers...

We first hit the Miromar Outlet Mall, which is southwest Florida's most famous outlet mall...over 140 shopping delights to peruse and explore and discover....

...and we discovered that a new Coach bag and Reebok Zigs made Yours Truly very happy. And don't laugh at those fugly Zigs, as they are easily the most comfortable pair of shoes you'll ever walk in. Although I agree; they really are butt-ugly.



An afternoon spent at Bonita Beach...where Daughter sculpted dolphins in the sand....



Oldest son, looking suspiciously like the dead guy in "Weekend at Bernie's", took a nap on the sandy shores...



Hubby threw a football...



...to youngest son, while Daughter cheered them on...



And all three kids decided to have a contest: Who could stand in the (very cold) water the longest? (For the record, it was a tie. They all three had very numb feet and decided to call it a draw. Smart thinking.)



The evening was spent at a delightful greasy spoon called Mel's Diner, where Hubby topped off his meal with their famous "Mile High Pie."


No T.V. No electronics. No video games.

And we all managed to have a little fun today.

Huh. Go figure. If you had told my kids this morning that this was possible - they would have called you crazy.

Peace.

Adventures in Traveling

Twas' the day after Christmas,
and our house was a mess...
We were heading to Florida,
and it was creating some stress.

My kids were all packing
their electronic toys with glee...
Nintendo DS's and iPods
were their priority.

I was freaking out,
when I saw what they packed.
Underwear, socks, and clothing,
in general, they lacked.

Huge bottles of liquids
in their carry-ons they had.
I tried to explain to them
that TSA says that's bad.

I finally just took over
and kicked them all away.
I think this was their goal
as they scampered off to play.

We made it to the airport,
and thru security without fear.
Our flight went through Chicago
but our connection didn't appear.

The Holiday Blizzard had hit,
affecting thousands of flights.
We sat in Midway Airport forever,
thinking, "This really bites."

We'd packed some provisions,
and those electronic toys of ours
helped keep the kids comfy & busy,
as we whiled away the hours.

Our plane finally made it,
and we rolled into Florida very late.
We're just happy to have gone anywhere,
without too long of a wait.

So, we're here for a week in the South,
enjoying warm weather, food, and friends.
With cold weather waiting back home,
we hope our vacation never ends!

Shotgun Wedding?

In the course of living some 40+ years, there are certain truths that I know of to be factual.

I know that my parents were married on January 14, 1961. This fact has been born out with copies of the marriage license and their wedding album and family folklore.

I know that I, as their first-born child, was born on June 18, 1962. This fact has been born out with copies of birth certificates and my baby book and family folklore.

I know that, as a young woman, my mother was a "goody-two shoes" - a veritable Sandra Dee - who was more prude than rude - and how she managed to have three children is still a miracle to behold to this day. This fact has been born out with many, many, many talks and lectures and preachings from said Mother over the course of my lifetime. She was a GOOD girl, and don't let us forget that.

So...imagine my shock and awe when my Dear Mother made a little faux pax at the Christmas dinner table.

As their 50th wedding anniversary is fast approaching, we were begging the parents to share some stories...such as how they had met, how Dear Father had proposed, and so on.

I then asked Dear Mother what their wedding had been like...

Dear Mother looked at me, and said, "Well, don't you remember? You were there....."

Really?

I blinked.

Dear Mother, mistaking my complete silence from perhaps being deaf - instead of the total shock that she had now rendered me - repeated, "Yeah, you were there..."

I managed to croak out, "I was????"

It might have been the fact that my eyebrows had now raised to my hairline - or perhaps it was the fact that my eyeballs had popped out of my head - or maybe my jaw hitting the floor with a resounding "THUNK" gave it away - but something made Mom stop and pause and consider what she had just said.

Pick the best actress in the world - Meryl Streep? Bette Davis? Kathrine Hepburn? Angelina Jolie?

NONE of those actresses would EVER be able to mimic the complete & hilarious look of surprise, incredulity, shock, horror - that transpired on my Mother's face when her words registered.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" She screamed. "You WEREN'T there!"

Seismographs in California - half a continent away - registered this on the Richter scale. If YOU felt the ground shake on Christmas, blame it on my Mother's scream. Those of us sitting around the table are still partially deaf - 3 days later.

I really do think I wasn't there...and I really do think she just got confused as to her memories...as the paperwork all backs up the premise that I wasn't around for another 18 months...

...But for a minute there, I was certainly having a Christmas to remember.

And Mom will now be razzed for something she'll never forget.

Peace.

Remember When?

Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that.

And so begins the classic, "A Christmas Carol", written by Charles Dickens in the merry old year of 1843, and still read by millions today.

It is a tradition in our house to gather up the kids every Christmas season, and head to a local theater in town, where we sit back and take in all of the magic that is "A Christmas Carol."

The kids have always looked forward to this, and time is spent in the car on the way to the theater, discussing and anticipating what this year's production will be like.

Many "I wonder if....?" and much "I hope they..." is heard in the car, as we try to guess how the show will be staged and directed for our enjoyment. There's also much, "Remember when they...?" as we reminisce about previous productions.

Kansas City has been blessed with an outstanding local actor, Gary Neal Johnson, who has portrayed Ebenezer Scrooge for as long as we can all remember. In fact, Gary Neal Johnson IS Scrooge in our hearts and minds, and none of us can fathom any one else even attempting to take his place as the crusty old curmedgeon.


Gary Neal Johnson, as Scrooge, as he meets up with Marley's ghost

Our youngest daughter (who is now 11 years old) first went to see this play when she was 5. I had forewarned her of the (sometimes sudden) appearances of the spirits, so she wouldn't freak out during the show if something caught her off-guard.

But I guess I neglected to warn her of one particular scene, which resulted in a bit of embarrassment on our part.

There is a scene when the young Scrooge meets his future fiance, Belle, and he gives her a kiss. During this most intimate of scenes, in a very quiet theater, my daughter lets her displeasure of the kiss (as most 5-year olds will be) be known.

"EWWWWWWWW!" She said, very loudly...and the theater erupted in laughter.

Um....that was not a comedic scene, but leave it to my child to turn it into one. And this story has now become part of our family folklore.

"Remember when I didn't like the kiss?" she'll say in the car, as we head to the theater. And the story gets told for the hundredth-millionth time.

This year, through fate, karma, and a bit of luck, we actually scored tickets to the Christmas Eve production.

To enjoy the story of Scrooge's miraculous transformation on the most-holy nights of Christmas Eve was truly magical. The story hit home - just that much more - and it was almost solemn as we walked out of the theater and into the dark on Christmas Eve night...all of us thinking of Scrooge and his change of heart.

And I'm sure in the future, we'll hear the kids say, "Remember when we saw it on Christmas Eve?"

Traditions. Memories. Isn't that what sometimes makes Christmas what it is?

God bless us...everyone.

Peace.

A Story of Christmas

"Tell me a story of Christmas," she said.

The television mumbled faint inanities in the next room. From a few houses down the block came the sound of car doors slamming and guests being greeted with large cordiality.

Her father thought awhile. His mind went back over the interminable parade of Christmas books he had read at the bedside of his children.

"Well," he started, tentatively, "Once upon a time, it was the week before Christmas, and all the little elves at the North Pole were sad."

"I'm tired of elves," she whispered. And he could tell she was tired, maybe almost as weary as he was himself after the last few feverish days.

"OK", he said. "There was once, in a city not very far from here, the cutest wriggly puppy you ever saw. The snow was falling, and this little puppy didn't have a home. As he walked along the streets, he saw a house that looked quite a bit like our house. And at the window..."

"Was a little girl who looked quite a bit like me," she said with a sigh. "I'm tired of puppies. I love Pinky, of course. I mean story puppies."

"OK," he said. "No puppies. This narrows the field."

"What?"

"Nothing. I'll think of something. Oh, sure. There was a forest, way up in the North, farther even than where Uncle Ed lives. And all the trees were talking about how each one was going to be the grandest Christmas tree of all. One said, 'I am going to be a Christmas tree, too.' And all the trees laughed and laughed and said: 'A Christmas tree? You? Who would want you?'"

"No trees, Daddy," she said. "We have a tree at school and at Sunday school and at the supermarket and downstairs and a little one in my room. I am very tired of trees."

"You are very spoiled," he said.

"Hmmmmm," she replied. "Tell me a Christmas story."

"Let's see. All the reindeer up at the North Pole were looking forward to pulling Santa's sleigh. All but one, and he felt sad because," he began with a jolly ring in his voice but quickly realized that this wasn't going to work, either.

His daughter didn't say anything; she just looked at him reproachfully.

"Tired of reindeer, too?" he asked. "Frankly, so am I. How about Christmas on the farm when I was a little boy? Would you like to hear about how it was in the olden days, when my grandfather would heat up bricks and put them in the sleigh and we'd all go for a ride?"

"Yes, Daddy," she said obediently. "But not right now. Not tonight."

He was silent, thinking. His repertoire, he was afraid, was exhausted. She was quiet, too. Maybe, he thought, I'm home free.

Maybe she had gone to sleep.

"Daddy," she murmured. "Tell me a story of Christmas."

Then it was as though he could read the words, so firmly were they in his memory. Still holding her hand, he leaned back:

"And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed..."

Her hand tightened a bit in his, and he told her a story of Christmas.

Written by Bill Vaughan...from the Kansas City Star

This Old House

Yesterday was a bittersweet day for me...

The old house...the house we've had on the market since July...was finally sold, and yesterday, Hubs and I headed into the title company to sign the paperwork.

The buyers are actually closing next week, but we'll be out of town - so an early trip was necessary to cross all the i's and dot all the t's - or however it goes....

After we left the title company, Hubs and I headed to the old house one more time...our arms were piled with keys, garage door openers, and paperwork - I had made a file box of necessary appliance instructions, warranties, etc - and we wanted to leave all of our goodies on the kitchen counter for the new owners.

And we wanted to do one final walk-through...to say goodbye.

As I walked through the empty house - my mind was flooded with memories: of the children growing up, of friends coming by, of the pets scampering across the floors...of birthday parties and Christmas parties and family picnics in the backyard...

...memories of scraped knees and broken arms and upset tummies...

...images of family discussions and important decisions and life-changing moments...

...celebrations of good news, supporting each other in bad news...

...all happening within the four walls of the house we built many years ago...

Is it strange to be so attached to a house? Is it weird to get all choked up and cry a little when it was time to shut the door for one final time?

Goodbye, house. We loved you.

A new family will be taking care of you now...

And may they bless you and you bless them - as much as we were blessed.

Peace.

Happy Festivus!

Happy Festivus!

Yes, today is the day that we observe "Festivus", another way to celebrate the holiday season without participating in its pressures and commercialism...a day that was brought to our attention by the classic TV show, "Seinfeld."

I loved Seinfeld. That was mandatory TV viewing for us - we'd gather up friends, gather around the set, and enjoy the latest adventures of Jerry and his bunch of misfit friends.

Two episodes still stand out to me: The Chinese Restaurant, where Jerry and his friends spend the entire episode waiting for a table in a Chinese restaurant.

The network tried to kill that storyline, as they felt that it was "boring" and the viewers would be uninterested.

Boy, were they wrong. It became a cult favorite and an instant classic.

My other favorite episode was The Parking Garage, where the cast spends the episode trying to find Kramer's car in a multi-level parking garage.

Every person's nightmare - losing their car in a parking garage.

I laughed until I peed.

I miss Seinfeld.

The show may be gone, but Festivus will live forever.

A day to Air our Grievances and to practice Feats of Strength and to enjoy Festivus Miracles.

Festivus for the rest of us...

Peace.

Did you watch Seinfeld? Did you have a favorite episode? Do you remember the episodes I've mentioned above? Quit lurking and share a comment below....!

Party Animals

Yesterday was quite the day at our house for visitors...

Our first visitor was this beautiful Red-Crested Woodpecker, who decided to drop in and peck on some trees in our backyard...



Later, this sleepy possum strolled into the backyard, scavenging around for an afternoon snack...



In the early evening, we had dozens and dozens of visitors of the Human kind, descending upon our house for food, fun and merriment.

It was our annual "Reindeer Games" night - where we party, eat, play lots and lots of games, and then eat some more. Followed by more eating. (you get the idea)

We're not sure what these Party Animals were doing at some point...our observations showed them contorting themselves into various strange positions on this mat labeled "Twister".





Even yours truly, the Drama Queen, found herself on this mat - that's me on the far left - before I got knocked over - and out - by that big guy next to me, who just happens to be Hubby, and who I think was sabotaging the Drama Queen on purpose.



We even observed a "double-decker" human...the bottom guy managed to play the entire Twister game with a little monkey on his back, which made for one tough game, I can only imagine.



Who knew the holidays would be so educational?

The study of Ornithology in the morning, followed by a lesson in Zoology, and completed with a most interesting study of Anthropology.

No WONDER we were exhausted last night.

(And I'm sure that game of Twister had nothing to do with it.)

Peace.

A King's Celebration

"This is the LAST year I'm putting up the Christmas lights!"

So said Hubby, as he untangled (hmmm...i think he was doing more tangling than untangling, myself) the lights a few weeks back to be strung across the rooflines of our house.

I just smiled. He says that every year.

And every year, I'll find him out on a ladder, cussing and cursing, as he strives for the PERFECT Christmas light display on our house.

Every year, I swear this will be the last year I'm going to drag the Christmas tree up from the basement, climb up and down the ladder, hang ornaments, attach bows and ribbons, and strive for the PERFECT Christmas tree in our living room.

Every year, I swear this will be the last year I find the PERFECT Christmas card to send, gather up the family & friends addresses, pick out the prettiest Christmas stamp, suffer through hand spasms as I sign our names, and haul the cards to the insanely-crowded post office for mailing.

Every year, I swear this will be the last year that I will bake and create the PERFECT Christmas goodies in the kitchen - pouring over the millions of recipes I've collected over the years, searching and hunting for ingredients in the crowded aisles of the local grocer, and creating a gargantuan mess in the kitchen.

And yet.


The 2010 Tree...

Just like Hubby, who says that his lights are a celebration & tribute of Jesus's birth at Christmas, and so how could he NOT put up the lights...

I'll put up the tree...and decorate it to befit the birthday of a King.

I'll send out cards...to wish my family and friends a Merry Christmas as we celebrate His birth.

I'll bake oodles and oodles of cookies and breads...in order to feast at His celebration.

And I enjoy it. I love it. To me? It's Christmas.

It's memories & traditions for my kids.

It's not Christmas without the lights on the house.

It's not Christmas without the tree in the living room.

It's not Christmas without cards being sent and received.

It's not Christmas without homemade cookies in the kitchen.

So excuse us if we sometimes grumble.

That's just part of our traditions, too.

Peace.

Cookie Nights with Dad

Christmas traditions....

A Christmas tradition we had growing up was baking cookies.

Not with my Mom. No - you'd never see my Mom baking in the kitchen. Ever. Period. End of story.

We'd instead bake cookies with my Dad.

Remember, my dad's mother was a professional baker - so, naturally, my Dad grew up watching Grandma in the kitchen, whipping up homemade cookies and pies and breads.

And so Dad was the cookie-maker in our house.

Every year, a few nights before Christmas, Dad would gather all of his sugar cookie supplies in the kitchen, sound out the much-anticipated words, "IT'S COOKIE NIGHT!!!" and us kids would come running, and drag the kitchen chairs over to the counter so we'd be "big" and could function as able-bodied assistants.

Cookie Night was an added incentive to be good and behaved, because an indiscretion or a lie or a tattle would revoke your cookie-baking privileges. A tragedy to be avoided at all costs, if possible.

Mixing bowls, measuring cups, spoons, spatulas, cookie sheets, oven mitts - the supplies would scatter from one end of the counter to the other - no empty bowl was left unturned - no spoon left unlicked - all interspersed with sugar, flour, butter, vanilla - and other mysterious ingredients that Dad would experiment with.

And the MOST important ingredient of all? Why, the red and green sugar sprinkles for the decorations, of course.

Nothing fancy back in those days - red & green sugar sprinkles would suffice...although every now and then, a candied "red-hot" could be thrown in as a special bonus.

Candied red-hots made excellent noses for our reindeer cookies - transforming an ordinary reindeer cookie into a much-in-demand Rudolf cookie.

Several hours later, we'd be finished...

There would be flour dusting every available inch of the kitchen, including our noses...

Sugar sprinkles would be underfoot, leaving crunches as we'd walk across the sticky floor...

The mess? Humongous.

The smell? Heavenly.

The taste? Delicious.

The memories? Priceless.

Peace.

Gimmee Attack: Foiled!

During this already stressful holiday season, my pre-teen daughter has developed a serious case of lust and greed, which is driving me bonkers.

For the last 2-3 weeks, Hubby and I have been subjected to a constant barrage of the dreaded "Gimme Attack", which begins as:

"I REALLLLLLY need more pairs of jeans..." followed by,

"I REALLLLLLY need new tennis shoes..." which is then followed by,

"I also REALLLLLY need a new coat...." and so on. And so on. And so on.

All done in a very whiny, pleading tone that just grates - GRATES - on our ears.

Gah.

She must think we're deaf, (we ARE old, after all, in her mind) because if we don't jump up immediately to whisk this poor, deprived urchin to the mall to buy these desired items, she then repeats her requests. Again and again and again.

This spoiled-rotten daughter of mine has lots of jeans in her closet - but they're not all necessarily fitting her "perfect" (in her mind).

She has tennis shoes...but they're "dirty" from playing soccer. (her word, not mine)

She has a couple of coats - but they're not as stylish or as hip as the coats her classmates are now (apparently) sporting.

The other day, she drove me over the edge. When the dreaded "Gimme Attack" started, I calmly went over and picked up the local newspaper from our recycle bin.

They had just done a story that day about local children in our neighborhood who are going hungry at school, as well as at home, and it pointed out just how prevalent hunger is becoming.

It was a sad, and most-definitely, eye-opening article about kids who go home to eat a slice of bread for dinner.

And sometimes nothing else.

"What's this?" my daughter eyed the paper suspiciously.

"Just read it. And THEN come talk to me about what you 'need.'"

She read it. And nary a word has been said since about jeans, shoes, or a coat.

The dreaded "Gimmee Attack" has been foiled.

We are blessed. And I think she realizes that now, too.

Peace.

The Gift of Sunrises

Is it any wonder that I have fallen passionately in love with living on a lake, when you can wake up, walk into the kitchen, and be greeted with this:




....and this:



God is the artist, and every day, He paints a different masterpiece for me to enjoy and appreciate.

And I do.

Peace.

This is 'Snow Not Fun!

Negative wind chills.

Snow drifts piled up outside the front door.

Wind blowing 30-40 mph.

Is it any wonder I will be moving to Florida in a few months? Brrrr.

This is what I woke up to yesterday...living in the midwest, and our first big storm of the season.

And yesterday was our town's Girl Scout Yule Log event - an annual event in which the little scouts head to a nearby camp, make crafts, eat cookies, drink hot chocolate - and then, joy of joys, tromp into the woods on a scavenger hunt to find your particular troop's Yule Log.

On a day when even two minutes outside was just brutal. Bitter. Painful.

The Yule Log hunt is always "weather permitting" - so, I figured for sure that wind chills in the single digits would be weather NOT permitting to slip and slide through the snow on a hunt for a stick of wood.

Right?

So, I gathered up the scouts, told them we'd probably be doing everything BUT finding the Yule Log, and we headed off to camp.

Being a good mom, I made sure they were all bundled up for the journey over, but did I bundle up myself?

No.

Did I make sure that I had good footwear on? To tromp through snowy woods? Just in case?

No.

So, who was not prepared to go tromping through snow-covered paths through the woods because it WAS weather permitting?

Me. The Leader.

A fine example I'm showing for my Scouts, huh?

Yes, to my complete & utter surprise & despair, the Yule Log hunt was a "go" - regardless of the snow, regardless of the cold, regardless of the wind. They DID make it easy, by marking the paths with bright pink ribbons. Yesterday was NOT a day when we needed anyone getting lost in the woods.

However - it was all worth it. The girls had fun. We were cold, but we warmed up with hot cocoa and cookies and made fun crafts and we now have a nice log to burn at our first camp-out this season. That we most definitely earned.

And my feet are finally thawed.

Peace.

See No Evil Santa

See no evil.

Say no evil.

Hear no evil.



On the third day of Christmas, I gave myself these little Santas...aren't they too cute??!

They're only about 3" high - but they bring me a big smile every time I see them.

And that's what Christmas is all about - bringing smiles.

Peace.

Santa's Surprise

The telephone rings this morning, and a quick peek at the caller ID causes my stomach to drop.

It's from 21-year old son who is away at school.

Who never calls.

Not even when he needs money.

Which is, like, all the time.

So...why now? Why, on an early, snowy, chilly Sunday morning, is the son calling?

This can't be good news.

And it wasn't.

"Hi, Mom. I broke my nose last night."

Whah??!!

Actually, I knew something was up.

Thanks to Facebook, I'm able to somewhat keep up with my kids by checking their statuses on a daily basis...and this morning, my son had posted, "That pole kicked my A$$. Remind me not to pick a fight with it next time."

Pole? What pole? What does that mean? Did he run into a telephone pole?

Tangle with a stripper pole? (Hey - my mind is trying to cover all the bases here....)

None of the above.

My son was playing a midnight game of Dodgeball in the university gym, and in the process of "dodging", he dived headfirst into a volleyball pole.

A midnight run to the local hospital, where he received a Christmas gift of stitches and an x-ray confirmation of the break, and he's good to go.

And I'm soon going to receive the gift of a hefty E.R. bill.

Oh, the joys of the holiday season.

And unexpected gifts.

Peace.

P.S. Disclaimer: Son is doing well; it's a "small" break, per the physician, and son won't have to undergo surgery. I'm actually very happy that it is not has bad as it could have been - and no concussion.

Feelin' the Love for "Community"

Ah, the love for Community keeps on growing.

This little-watched television show has absolutely, positively been my favorite show for the past year – managing to surpass the hilarious Modern Family and Top Chef on my list of must-see TV...which is quite amazing, as I really, really, really love Top Chef, what with the food and the snark and the egos of the competing chefs.

I love snarky shows. And Community is especially snarky.

And now, the rest of the world is finally catching on.

BuddyTV has ranked Communityas #1 in it’s list of Top 10 TV shows. They write, “Community was easily the funniest thing on television in 2010.”

So true.

New York Magazine recently named Community as #1 on IT’S Top 10 of television.

As the writer for New York Magazine says, “the show explodes TV conventions while working within them”, and “it’s consistently hilarious.”

Huh. I knew that all along.

And E Online! had it at #3 for in their Top 10 of TV Comedies for 2010.

Of course, I knew last year that Community was epic…I blogged about it in this March entry, “Tardy to the Party.”

If you have never watched this 30-minute sitcom, give it a chance. It’s on Thursday nights at 7:00 pm CST on NBC….it’s streets ahead better than Big Bang Theory or Survivor or anything else you could possibly be watching at that time.

And the critics - for once - agree with me. :)

Peace.

1 Corinthians 13: The Christmas Version

If I decorate my house perfectly with plaid bows,
strands of twinkling lights and shiny balls,
but do not show love to my family,
I'm just another decorator.

If I slave away in the kitchen, baking dozens of Christmas cookies,
preparing gourmet meals and
arranging a beautifully adorned table at mealtime,
but do not show love to my family,
I'm just another cook.

If I work at the soup kitchen, carol in the nursing home and give all that I have to charity,
but do not show love to my family,
it profits me nothing.

If I trim the spruce with shimmering angels and crocheted snowflakes, attend a myriad of holiday
parties and sing in the choir's cantata but do not focus on Christ,
I have missed the point.

Love stops the cooking to hug the child.

Love sets aside the decorating to kiss the husband.

Love is kind, though harried and tired.

Love doesn't envy another's home that has coordinated
Christmas china and table linens.

Love doesn't yell at the kids to get out of the way,
but is thankful they are there to be in the way.

Love doesn't give only to those who are able to give in return,
but rejoices in giving to those who can't.

Love bears all things, believes all things,
hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never fails.

Video games will break, pearl necklaces will be lost,
golf clubs will rust, but giving the gift of love will endure.

By: Author Unknown